Around Midnight
by G.G. Halcyon
Summary: [COMPLETE] MOLLY/MYCROFT. Molly meets Mycroft for the first time at a family wedding. What's Molly to do when she finds herself trapped in a room with a handsome mysterious gentleman and she's just a tad bit drunk and broody?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Around Midnight

**Author:** G.G. Halcyon

**Fandom:** Sherlock

**Pairing:** Molly/Mycroft

**Rating:** M

**Warning:** Explicit adult themes

**Publish:** 2014

* * *

CHAPTER 1: THE BRIDESMAID

She didn't know whether to be irked by the fact that her mother's love life thrived in comparison to her own or the fact that after less than a year of widowhood her mother had chosen that day to marry some big wig official who she dreaded to call her step-father. She felt like she was going to be sick.

Molly leaned against the bathroom sink and stared at the running water, catching her breath and preventing herself from heaving.

'_Please tell me this isn't happening_,' she prayed like a mantra, hoping that she was dreaming and that the predicament was certainly something she would have never in her lifetime have found herself in.

She was the bridesmaid of her sixty-five year old mother. This solitary fact no doubt nailed the coffin to her spinsterhood, forcing Molly to accept the reality that she was destined to be alone forever. It wouldn't surprise her if everyone already knew she was way past her prime. No one would be surprise that the youngest of the Hooper children lacked the appeal to attract and maintain any sensible man, nor would they flinch at the fact that Molly gave up any serious attempt to attract one either. It was a fact that was to be accepted.

Turning the faucet off, Molly glanced at her reflection, fixed her hair and smooth down her lilac satin dress and stepped out of the restroom and into the hallway to join the others. She prayed that she had enough power in her left to maintain the fake smile and air of happiness that her family expected from her. She hoped no one noticed other wise as she headed down the hall way and out to the lawn where people gathered after the wedding ceremony. She wanted to turn away, but forced herself to continue to join the others.

"Oh! Molly, sweetheart, there you are!"

Her sister-in-law Leona Marie-Claire Hooper, pranced towards her, holding a chubby giggling Phillip, Molly's 9-month-old nephew, in her arms.

Molly greeted her sister-in-law with a smile, and gently placed a peck on the forehead of her nephew's cheeks. The sight of Leona holding her little one tugged at Molly's heartstrings, and created a tightness in her stomach. A part of her wished that she would look as radiant and overly feminine as Leona. Her light-blond curly hair created a halo around her perfectly smooth oval face, and sharpened the brightness of her green smiling eyes. She depicted someone who Molly knew she'd never be—a beautiful wife and mother blessed with confidence and happiness shining through her.

"Molly, did you know I looked all over for you?" Leona's tone and expression showed worry, and brought Molly back from her reverie.

"Georgie said you may have stormed off someplace," Leona continued in a hush tone, "Don't tell Georgie I told you... but he was worried that maybe you just left or something. I told him not to be ridiculous, of course who wouldn't do something like that!"

Her eyes darted around them as if not wanting everyone to hear.

Molly forced a smile on her lips, and coerced a light laugh, trying her best to hide the slight hurt she felt. The idea that her younger brother thought so negatively of her bothered her, and yet didn't surprise her. It was not as if she tried to hide her distaste for her mother's matrimony; nor did she show any sincere happiness when the announcement of the engagement was given either. The truth really was that Molly was surprise that her brother didn't trust her to act the part of a happy bridesmaid daughter, and simply feared for the worst.

"You and Georgie act like I don't want to be here," Molly feigned being overly hurt by Leona's declaration; she did her best to sound sincere, to sound as if what was said was so shockingly surprising. "I would not miss mum's wedding for any day, Leona. This day means the world to her and...I'm just happy that she's happy, you know?" The truth: Molly didn't want to be there at all.

Leona pulled Molly in a light hug, before letting her go. "Oh Molly, Georgie said that you were the closest to your dad, and that you may take this whole remarriage thing the hardest... I just want you to know that you can talk to me, Mols, if you need to someone to talk to."

Molly already had enough of hearing how her brother Georgie thought she may cause a scene or make their mother unhappy with her forced display of 'joyfulness' for her mother's remarrying after less than a year of being a window to her father.

Molly had her ideas regarding her mother's new husband. Her mother had always been very overbearing, demanding, and not the most caring woman. At the time her father was in the late stages of his lung cancer, Molly's mother had barely been present in assisting her father with his health and treatments. She had decided to let go of her father long before he was dead. The thought bothered Molly and brought a bitterness and anger towards her mother; yet, she couldn't say that she didn't love her mother...she was after all still family. It was her duty to be there at the wedding, to play the dutiful eldest child and only daughter. It didn't mean that she didn't hate being there at that moment. Molly mentally shook herself and decided she couldn't allow such train of thought ruin her carefully crafted facade of 'happy Molly' that the world saw.

"Leona,thank you, that means a lot... but I'm all right and I'm really happy for my mum."

Molly was surprised how sincere her false words sounded especially repeating it a second time; it was simple.

She grabbed her glass of Lemondrop martini from the table and her clutch.

"Tell, Georgie to stop worrying, and that he can stop having you be a sweetheart and be in charge of hunting me down."

Leona nodded and smiled at her in understanding. Phillip gurgled and reached out to Molly with his tiny hands and tried to capture the waves of dark-blonde hair that fell on Molly's shoulders. Molly brushed her hair away from the little one's grasp, only to watch him start to fuss. She tapped her little nose and he smiled at her with large innocent blue eyes, and gave her a wide tooth-less grin.

"Did you want to hold him?" Leona began to hand Phillip to Molly, but the child started to cry.

"It looks like he's happy with his Mummy, right Phil?" The baby cooed in response to her.

"Well...," Leona adjusted her hold on Phillip so he faced away from them, "I'll tell Georgie that I checked on you before he freaks out. You know he's just being a big brother, he gets worried, and you know how he is."

"I know, don't worry. Tell him I'm fine and I'm going to mingle a little bit outside."

"Great idea! Maybe see your Mum!"

"I'll do that."

_I need a drink._

She left Leona and her nephew and headed to the direction of the bar. By the time she got there her lemon drop was replaced by a glass of vodka-grape fruit mix or 'Grey hound' as her bartender called it.

She wasn't much of a drinker, but she realized that if she was expected to survive the whole night, she would have to be a little bit more numb and relaxed. She swirled the contents of the glass of Grey hound in her hand and drank the contents in one gulp. It was smoother than she had expected.

"Make that two Grey Hounds," she smiled at the cute bartender.

She's surprised that he doesn't ask or make a comment about the drinks –after all she was told the minimum was one drink at a time. She figured that he probably had seen his lot of alcoholics and drunkards at weddings, and at this point didn't bother to give her qualms about it.

The bartender finished making the first of her two drinks and set it in front of her. She grabbed the glass and it was gone the moment it touched her lips. _Real ladies sip_, a voice said in her head, _bullocks, I'm not a lady, I'm a spinster_! She received a funny glance from the bartender.

"Excuse me, miss?" he asked, "You okay?"

Molly blushed as she realized she said her last thought out loud.

"Uhm...yes, I'm okay! Can I get my other drink please?"

The bartender glanced at the empty glass. He didn't have to say anything, but simply nodded his head, Molly could tell he was already accessing her as he eyed her carefully as he to mixed her second drink.

_He's probably wondering `if I'm some desperate loner, who would end the night inebriated and dancing on the tables and yelling about bitter love_.

"Don't tell my boyfriend I'm sneaking a drink at the bar," she smiles—surprising herself how easy she could lie about having any man in her life. The bartender seemed at ease after hearing this and his grin brought out the brightness and allure in his eyes. She's glad he believed her rouse. A part of her didn't want to appear too pathetic in front of this stranger anyway. She didn't want him to think she was going to be a drunk.

"I'm taking that second drink up for him," she tells him. She really didn't want to appear pathetic.

"I'm sure he'll like it." He winked at her and finished making the drink, and in a few minutes Molly was once again with a full glass of Grey Hound in front of her. Somehow she had the feeling that it would be stronger as she noted the bartender adding just a tad bit more vodka in the mix. She left him a generous tip, grabbed her drink for her 'boyfriend', her clutch around her wrist and waved goodbye.

"I'll see you around, miss."

"I'll be back!"

She doesn't know if she was serious about that declaration or not. A part of her was certain that by the time she finished her mixed drinks she would certainly be needing a ride home.

_Well, that'll be where Georgie comes in._

/

/

/

Her face felt flushed and the tingling numbness of alcohol already began to course through her body. Molly realized that her lips were somehow in an upturned smile, and she found herself making significant eye contact with many of the wedding guests. Another part of Molly—the remaining sober part of Molly—prayed that she wouldn't act on her declaration, and that she would finish her drink and call it a day. The 'day' she referred to was one that involved her fulfillment of her duty as her mother's maid of honor/bridesmaid and socializing, and being a "good girl", and not causing a scene, and simply dissapearing undetected.

The very thought of socializing and pretending to be pleased with her mother's remarriage made Molly feel sick to her stomach, and her chest ached from heartache.

_Screw it! _

The dark thoughts were shut down with a large gulp of her mixed drink.

She almost stumbled up the stairs heading to the main clubhouse-another sign she really needed to get the hell out of plain sight until she made a fool of herself and her mother and brother realized how correct they were in the remarriage making Molly bitter.

Molly smirked and huffed, realizing that the alcohol she consumed did not help at all with her maintaining her mousy, un-confident spinster Molly facade that everyone seemed to know so well. Her truer colors were beginning to show; and she noticed this as she obtained glances from nearby male guess, and she noticed her shoulders were more relaxed, pushed back in confidence, and her gate a lot of certain.

_I shouldn't have drank so much_, Molly thought. _I need to get out of here before I make a fool of myself, and especially before I see-_

"Molly, I'm so glad you're here!"

_Bullocks._

The club house cabin door opened and Amelia Hooper, her mother, greeted her. She smiled warmly at her daughter as she walked towards her and enveloped her in a hug.

Molly couldn't help but feel the roughness of the embroidery on her mother's champagne wedding dress graze her chest; she frowned at the thought that of all people it was her mother weather the wedding dress, and she was the bridesmaid.

Amelia's blue eyes took in her young daughter's state, seeming to analyze her and Molly noted how pleased her mother seemed to look.

_I don't think she knows how close to drunk I am._

Amelia's gaze started at Molly's heels—3 inch heels that she would have never thought to ever seeing her in one; to the curve of her body in a fitted pencil skirt-length lavender one shoulder-strap dress. Amelia almost looked like she had tears in her eyes as she took in the view of her youngest and only daughter. She noted Molly's shoulder length blond hair, down and lightly curled and not in the usual unruly ponytail. Similar blue-green eyes stared back at her, and Amelia ignored her daughter's hazy look, but instead was pleased with the view of her daughter finally being 'put together'. To Amelia, this meant a step closer to finding a husband for her 'little Molly'.

As for Molly, she cared less about her current state of dress, although she could admit that she knew that she looked more attractive when she 'dressed as a lady'—as her mother always said. The one thing though that her mother dearest didn't phantom was that Molly's job involved her being surrounded by dead people, cutting up dead people, blood, guts—and the last thing she wanted everyday was to worry about what she was going to wear at 4 AM, when her only audience already has left and gone the world. Molly mentally shook herself for the dark thought—a voice in the back of her head stated that she was only getting older, and she couldn't revert back to being a horrid looking spinster like her Auntie Bernice. Another part of her really didn't care because deep down she had a feeling that she just had to accept the fact that lonely-single-Molly was here to stay.

"Gosh, Molly, my dear, you look so beautiful," Amelia began, as she took one of Molly's arm—the one without the drink—and began to usher her towards the lounge where her friends gathered. They pause briefly.

"But why do you look so dreary, my dear? Would it hurt to put on that charming smile of yours?" her mother whispers in her ear.

"I am smiling," she whispers back, her cheeks hurting from the smile platered there.

"Not with your eyes, my dear." Amelia turns to her, their eyes meeting, and her look unreadable, "but I do hope that changes soon."

They continued their way into the lounge where people chatted, conversed and their laughter filled the surrounding.

Molly already felt her anxiety rise—she hated being around so many people, complete strangers to her—these situations always led to her speaking and stammering like a bumbling idiot. She looked at the last glass of her potent drink in her hand, and found herself finishing it in three gulps (as gracefully as so her mother didn't scold her). _Better_, she thought, as the warmness engulfed her and her cheeks turned flushed and she felt the comforting numb of the alcohol start to loosen her inhibitions. Drunk Spinster Molly was a socialist—well in comparison to the shy, blumbering one –she hopes.

Amelia turned to Molly, stopping on their tracks. "Honey, I'm going to introduce you to a few friends of mine." (Translation: I'm going to introduce you to my friends who have single sons your age, so that we can hook you up together, and get you a date.) She smiled at Molly, and Molly smiled her bright smile, one she hopes met her eyes—she was getting good at these facades on cue, or so she'd like to think so—

"There, you look so beautiful when you smile; instead of looking frowning and so serious, my dear." Amelia took Molly's hands in hers, "I really I'm glad you're here, sweetheart, and all I ask is that you enjoy yourself."

Molly squeezed her mother's hand in reassurance. "I'm enjoying myself, Mum, don't worry yourself."

She lied, but didn't want to ruin the day for her mother as much as she was not very fond of the whole marriage situation.

She straightened herself, and beamed at her mother, and together they head to Amelia's group of friends.

"I'll do the introducing, " Amelia tells her.

Molly wished she had another drink.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Around Midnight

**Author:** G.G. Halcyon

**Fandom:** Sherlock

**Pairing:** Molly/Mycroft

**Rating:** M

**Warning:** Explicit adult themes

**Publish:** 2014

* * *

CHAPTER TWO: THE PROSPECTS

The moment they came to the group of people, Molly already dreaded allowing her mother to drag her into this. She didn't need to guess that this very moment was carefully crafted by her mother alone, and that she should have known it was bound to happen. A sense of dread came about Molly, when she realized that her brother—whom he spoke to in what she believe was in confidence—probably informed her mother of the outcome of her and Devin. Molly only prayed that Amelia didn't take it upon herself to notify all her friends about her current relationship status: Molly Hooper, NON-ENGAGED, SINGLE...UN-MARRIED, OVER-THIRTY.

She wanted to run away so badly from the situation that she felt a sense of anxiety kick in_. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this._ The mantra continued in her mind, as she forced herself to keep her smile and keep her hands from shaking as she mother took her by the arm gently and introduced her to her friends.

"I've heard so many great things about you! You look just like Amelia!" a woman who introduced herself as Betsy gave her a hug and quick peck on the cheek. She was a woman in her late 60s who still dyed her hair blond in hopes of looking younger. Her face was thin and pale, and the bright fire engine red lipstick she wore only aged her more. She work a purple chiffon dressed that fell on her skinny figure like a sheet; her hands were littered in rings and jewelry. Somehow Molly noted the ring finger devoid of any of the gaudy rings she wore. _Great, I'm looking at my future._ She shook herself from the negative thought and stretched her smile.

"Nice to meet you!" She greeted the four women, ignoring their observing eyes.

The only recognizable woman was Mrs. Laferty, who hugged her immediately and pecked her on the cheek.

"Why Molly, you look lovely as always!"

"Thank you, Mrs. Laferty."

"So, you're the pathologist we've been hearing about!" A woman named Mary Anne started, "How was America during your studies there?"

"Oh, it was not bad at all. I was actually doing some research and teaching there for a few years."

Amelia chided in, "She worked in the best children's hospital in America!"

"Children's hospital? So you're a pediatrician, then?"

Molly was glad the discussion did not go to marriage, future, and her relationship. She didn't mind answering questions about her studies. "I did research there, and did pathology and diagnosis."

"Oh, what exactly was your role?"

"Well, I did post mortem work for the hospital; and assisted in diseases and illness research that effect children."

"So you…uhm…deal with the children when they pass on?" Molly nodded her head, and noted Amelia almost paling. Perhaps this wasn't the conversation she was hoping to go down especially when trying to sell her daughter's qualities.

"How morbid, my dear! What on earth would make a young woman want to go that path?" She heard someone whisper in the background.

"It was just something I umm…fell into."

"Oh, I'm sure the reasoning for such a change in studies was because of that charming American man I heard you were with!"

"Oh yes, what was his name again?" Of course Beatrice would continue on the discussion, ignoring any sign of unease that emanated from Molly.

Molly couldn't speak, as she heard her mother answer. "Devin was his name," Amelia's eyes studied Molly's carefully, answering the question Molly had in her mind right away. Georgie definitely informed Amelia about the breakup. Amelia confirms this further as she tried to change the topic to the brand of sherry being passed around, but her group of women friends seemed far too interested in learning more about Molly. To gossip, perhaps, Molly thought bitterly. Her eyes darted around her in hopes to find her brother or sister in law close by so that she could go to them for escape, but only found other strangers around her. She didn't want to be rude and run off, and her mother's gentle hold on her arm didn't help her either with her plans of escape.

Molly decided to placate the women and didn't want to appear rude. The last thing she needed was to be the talk of the party or for word to spread how the eldest Hooper sibling was truly a bitter old hag who couldn't even hold a decent conversation. For the sake of her mother's reputation and also her wedding celebration, Molly decided to pull it out of herself to be as social as she could force herself. This of course simply meant answering the questions of prying old book club ladies, who in turn would use said information to match her with their own bachelor children—most of whom Molly could already tell from her observations of the women, would be horrid partners to begin with.

Molly grabbed a glass of sherry from a passing waiter all too quickly. She needed to numb herself again as she felt she had become tolerant of the alcohol she consumed. Somehow she found liquor assisted in keeping her anxiety at bay.

"Devin… " Molly began, trying to numb the bitter feeling rising from her chest. She didn't want to think of him, but perhaps this was fair practice for when her family and friends (most of whom were all in the United States) would be told of her broken engagement, which not many people knew about. "he was uhm…the doctor who I was assisting in the United States. His research made me very interested in switching my focus."

"I heard you two were a couple, my dear."

"No, not at all!" Molly immediately said, then steadied herself, "We never were," she lied, "we were research partners."

She thought of the three years of her life she felt she wasted with Devin, the man she thought she loved and loved her in return. She had planned, not too long ago, to arrive home with a man in her arms, and an engagement ring and the proclamation that Spinster Molly no longer existed. But instead, three months ago, after she completed her research with the plans of moving back to London with her fiancé, he had informed her of his breakthrough in his research and the fact that he would stay in America. She replayed their exchange in her head as if it was yesterday—

"Molly, I've gotten tenure at UPenn!"

"That's great, Devin!" She jumped into his arms to hug him, only to feel his hands limp around her. Something was wrong. She looked into his eyes, and found no happiness there. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"I …there's something I need us to talk about."

She remembered the transition with pain in her heart, but most importantly his final words. "I need to focus on my research—this can really change lives and I can't be filled with worry or concern about anyone else."

"What do you mean?"

"This relationship—I don't think I can be present 100% especially with these big changes. I can't move to London with you—I've decline the offer at Brighton University for this UPenn position."

"….I can stay here with you, I can find a job here full time!"

"It's not just that, Molly, it's just I can't devote myself into this relationship like before. I love you, but I think maybe we're rushing into this marriage thing too soon too."

"Devin…what…are you saying? We're breaking up? Three years let go like that?"

"No, Molly, it's just I think we need a break. A break until I find out where I am myself. We can't get married if I—if we—don't have a solid idea of where our lives are heading. I mean you have your research, you just got into pathology—I have mine….."

She had punched him; surprised that her fist got carried away to do so. The force of the punch was hard enough that it left Devin with a black eye; and she was grateful that he was man enough not to hit her back, but instead simply walked away from her and slammed the door behind her.

A week later he was already out of their apartment, all his belongings were gone as if he was never there before. The place they called their home for the past two years reverted back to the empty shell that had originally been Molly's apartment. Molly finished her research and published her paper; grateful that she could always reschedule her lab time when Devin was not present. She and he found ways not to see each other; and Molly was numb to the situation, to the pain. A month later, Molly decided that America wasn't for her, she had to get away; too many of her close friends knew Devin and herself and the magnitude of their shared circles was so great that she could never really avoid him. In addition, she no longer found a reason to stay in a foreign country where she felt she no longer had a future. A few universities offered her jobs to teach and do research, but she declined them all and settled for a position at Bart's. It was the fastest job she ever applied for and received, and it was the closest that she'd allow herself to be near her family. And so she headed back home—alone, single—spinster Molly.

"You know, my Molly is published!" Amelia's exclamation brought her out of her misery. She had not realized that she had been quiet all this time as everyone around her chattered; it shifted the interest of the women, and Molly felt like hugging her mother in thanks. She really didn't feel like explaining her failed relationship or broken engagement; she was lucky enough that the engagement was so short lived that no one really knew of it. The gods were watching her, Molly thought.

"Published where exactly?" Someone asked; Molly opened her mouth to answer.

"The Standford University Journal!" Amelia beamed. "Her research actually was published, and it is a big deal—"

"That's brilliant Molly," they praised her, and Molly simply smiles. She finds herself eyeing another glass of sherry, but stops herself as she realized she has yet to finish the one she is holding in her hands.

Mary Anne cleared her throat to gather everyone's attention, "_My _Arthur is published as well," she adds, her nose raised as if to begin her comparison. Molly is already sensing that sooner that evening Arthur would be the first prospect selected. Molly needed to get out of there—quick—before it was too late and she was forced to come face to face with Bertrice's son Arthur. He was a 38 year old financial analyst—boring as a doorknob, not that she wasn't so boring herself—but she was prepared to not see him again and have it turn into a replay of their previous encounters in the past years. Most importantly, she had no interest in hearing her mother and her friends compare their children's accomplishments or lack of with one another, especially when she knew that she would be a major topic of the discussion.

"Excuse me, I'm going to get some fresh air," Molly said as politely as she could without rousing suspicion. Amelia looked at her with concern in her eyes, and again her motherly gaze studied her carefully.

"Molly, sweetheart, you look a little flush. Do you want me to go out there with you?"

"Oh…uhmm, no, no. Please don't worry yourself, I'll step out and check up on Georgie while I'm at it. He's probably still out there in the lawn area."

"All right, dear."

Molly bid her goodbyes to the small group of women, as she feigned heading out the door. She was not going to check on Georgie at all, nor did she want to speak with any of the other guest, and least of all her new father in law.

/

/

/

Molly managed to sneak up the stairs, without her mother and her friends noticing, and headed to the second floor, where she was sure no guests would be. It was after all very clear that the music was to begin shortly for the dancing and socializing part of the reception. She didn't care about it at all. She wanted to be alone, to sober up until she was able to drive herself back to her hotel and sleep in peace. In the mean time, she needed to be left alone with her thoughts, to wallow in the bitterness and the rid of the what and could have bins with Devin, or the sad reality that she was indeed in her 30s and was still unmarried, with no boyfriend, no fiancé, and slowly accepting the harsh truth that she would forever be single. She could see it now, her nieces and nephews acknowledging her as a 'sweet nice auntie, who had way too many cats' –just like Aunt Beatrice. Molly ran a hand through her blond hair, ruffing the perfect curls that were once in place. It didn't matter, she thought, she could care less about how she looked at this point. No one would notice, and she didn't care.

She stopped her way up the second set of stairs heading to the second floor, and stopped as she saw a few guests walking down the hall way. She couldn't stay on the second floor, it was probable someone would find her there, or she'd crash into some guests aka complete strangers who she would be forced to talk to. She didn't want to talk. She wanted to be alone. _Spinster Molly._

She finished the remaining of her sherry and sat the empty glass on a lamp stand next to the 3rd flight of stairs heading to the 3rd floor. She took off her heals and carried them in her hand—the heals hurt her feet and she wondered why she even agreed to being placed in such torture—and tiptoed—more like stumped—here way up the third floor. She ignored the sign stating that it was off limits to guests, and trudged along up the stairs slowly, noting that there were no lights on.

Molly Hooper needed to be left alone.

She didn't want to pretend to be okay—instead she would rather be alone with her thoughts. A part of her wished that she had told Bart's that she was willing to start as soon as a possible, instead of informing them that she had to postpone her start date for work to one week because of her mother's wedding.

She wished that she was in the confines of her 'office', alone with the nonjudgmental silence of the dead.

Now she was stuck hiding from everyone around her.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Around Midnight

**Author:** G.G. Halcyon

**Fandom:** Sherlock

**Pairing:** Molly/Mycroft

**Rating:** M

**Warning:** Explicit adult themes

**Publish:** 2014

* * *

CHAPTER THREE: THE HIDEAWAY

She walked down the hallway, noting that no one else seemed to be on the 3rd floor. She was told by her brother that the _Grannary_ was a well known meeting spot and clubhouse for businessmen many decades ago, and still remained as a type of social club or membership club. Molly remembered looking at the descriptions she had read on Google about the place, and how it's third floor carried with it an expansive library, and resting area with a fireplace. Molly prayed that no one would be there on the third floor, as the festivities of drinking and dancing had begun to commence on the lower floors and outside the clubhouse. She also hoped that no one would even think of coming up a floor where all the lights were dimmed—and prayed people were deftly afraid of walking in a floor devoid of any light.

As she walked down the hallway she noted that there were many meeting rooms and areas. The first one was called _"Obicuitus"_ which she opened the door to and noted the massive library and three comfy sitting chairs surrounding a small table. The room's theme was that of a hunting lounge, and she decided right away that it wasn't a place where she felt she could be left alone to as there were many displays of taxidermies. _Plus, it'll probably be the first room people will go to, _she thought.

The second room was the _"Isosceles"_ and it had no doors to it. It was yet another lounge, devoid of any books, but instead appeared to be a place where the Grannary's members would drink and play cards. There were several tables with chairs placed in the room, and Molly noted immediately upon a glance that it had an expansive bar on the far corner. She was almost drawn to head to the bar to prepare herself a drink, but stopped herself. She had to stop wallowing in her misery and covering it up with drinks. She was after all planning to relax and sober up.

Molly paused at the entrance of the Isosceles. She still had four more hours until the end of the event, and she just wanted to be left alone. She didn't want to think about her mother's marriage to a husband she didn't like, nor the fact that she herself wasn't getting married. Her birthday was soon to come, and here she was still single, still unloved, still unnoticed. There was one certainty in Molly's life that she knew and that was the fact that no one would have noticed her gone. She was as plain as day and she was certain that even the gentlemen she had been introduced to by her Mother—in Amelia's hopes to obtain her a suitor—would even think to look for her or ponder her whereabouts.

She was frustrated and she was tired of the hollow feeling she felt in her gut. The memories of her shared life with a man who she thought would truly love her and be the end all and be all to her spinster and morbid future. "Forget it," she said aloud. She stepped into the Isosceles—grateful that there was still light streaming from the window to guide her way—and headed towards the expansive bar on the far corner of the room.

She searched the bar for opened bottles, but was upset to find out that they were all closed. She wanted to be inconspicuous, and almost rejoiced when she finally found a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, she was about to pour it but decided to stop. "No" she thought "I'm not going to be like aunt Beatrice," and with willpower she placed the bottle back. She took the glass—a champagne glass which appeared to be the only one available and not locked up in the cabinets—and decided to pour herself some water from the faucet. She needed to relax and water was probably what she needed for now. "Vodka later," a small voice said in her head, and Molly figured that holding off for a little bit before her next drink was a solid idea.

With her champagne glass filled with water in one hand and her shoes on the other, Molly decided to leave the Isoceles as she didn't want to relax in a room with no doors—this is what she tells herself—but the reality was she didn't trust herself with a full bar at the state that she was in. So she found herself back in the hallway. She was almost near the end of the hallway, when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs, a familiar voice calling out to her.

"Molly?" Georgie called out as he was reaching the top of the stairs. Molly panicked and immediately found herself running to the nearest door, opening the door—which she thanked God was open—and stepped inside. She locked the door, resting her forehead on the door in hopes to steady her breath. She didn't want to be found—she figured it was silly—but the last person she wanted to see was Georgie. She didn't need berating from her little brother on proper etiquette in weddings or to hear an endless tale of how she somehow embarrassed their mother, or whatever it was that he planned on telling her.

She closed her eyes to steady her pounding heart, and took deep breaths. She felt water which she spilled running down her left hand, but ignored it. She heard his footsteps inching closer to the door, perhaps two yards away.

"Molly, are you somewhere here?" Georgie's voice is one of concern, ting with a slur which Molly could tell was perhaps the alcohol as well. Georgie, after all was a drinker. "Mols?"

She hears as he enters several rooms and finally his footsteps stopped in front of her door, and she hears as he tried the door knob to a room across from her. Molly opened her eyes and slowly tiptoed back, and stared at the door. She hears as Georgie turns around and tries the door knob to her room, and the door knob rattled with his attempts.

"Where the hell could she be?" he whispers to himself, as he turned around and thudded along down the hall way. A few short minutes, Molly heard his footsteps fade down the flight of stairs, and she let out a breath that she didn't realize she had been holding.

"So close," she whispered to herself, as she took a steady breath, and turned around and leaned her back against the locked door. She closed her eyes again trying to keep herself steady. Who would have thought that she would work herself up by hiding from her relatives and everyone. She felt silly, replaying what perhaps to anyone seemed far too odd—a grown woman sneaking down the hall way, running barefoot and hiding in a room as if she was playing hide and seek.

"Ridiculous," she lets out a light laugh shaking her head as she finally felt composed. She opened her eyes and for the first time noticed her surroundings. She found herself in an expansive room, her eyes immediately caught on the fires of a lit fireplace with two massive arm chairs facing it. To her surprise the chairs were empty, and she wondered if someone had recently left the room.

"Are you in hiding as well?"

A masculine voice startled her from behind, and she spun around and almost dropped her glass. She came face to face with steely grey eyes of a well suited man, perhaps a two or three years older than herself. She couldn't speak, but simply with wide eyes watched as he walked away from the bar that he had stood behind, a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in hand.

"Uhm..uh…you startled me!" Was all she could say, stopped in her tracks debating whether she should leave immediately and risk having to face her brother and family. But something in her gut told her to stay, she was curious as to why this man had decided to be alone in the library. And who was he exactly? So many thoughts came though her, and all she could think of at the forefront were his steely gray eyes observing her, and his lips ever slightly turned in what appeared to be a concealed smile or look of amusement.

What does he think of me? A small voice asked in her head; it was a fleeting thought, but one that remained in its place as he walked towards her, his long legs carried him face to face with her with four solid steps. He carried himself with such confidence that it exuded from his tailored suited body. She noted his pinstriped black suit, a crisp white shirt, dark blue tie with matching handkerchief on his left pocket. He seemed very important; political; and perhaps someone who her father in law knew. That thought somehow bothered her—was this her step-father's friend?

"What brings you here?" He inquired, interrupting Molly's thoughts and causing her to realize that he had just been a subject of her blatant inspection. Molly felt flushed and embarrassed. She took a sip from her champagne glass of water to steady herself, she watches as his gaze briefly goes to her drink—his eyes alight with amusement. She did not realize that she had finished the entire glass in two steady gulps—she prayed that he doesn't really think of it as liquor—and then wondered why his opinion mattered. She steadied herself again—who was she to worry. This gentlemen was someone she'd never meet again; and no way in hell was she going to leave the room and face her family. She felt flushed as she adjusted her body to face him.

She shook her head, "I'm not hiding really," she starts, "a brother."

"Hmm," he acknowledged and she watched as he sits on the massive arm chairs facing the fireplace. "Please, do sit down."

And she looked down at him and watched as he held his whiskey in one hand, and his eyes observed her.

"You were here first," she started, but doesn't find the words to offer to leave, and it seems he doesn't provide her with it as well. He doesn't respond and simply indicated with a slight gesture of his filled glass at the empty chair next to her. And this time she sat.

She placed her empty glass on the table between them and placed her high heels on the floor, bending over to put them on.

"No need," he told her. And she is surprised at the soft tone of his voice, and he doesn't proceed to clarify, and she simply allows the shoes to remain off her feet. A part of her is was more than ever aware of her bare feet and the bright pink nail polish that adorned them. She relaxed against the chair and looks over at him; their eyes meeting.

"I'm Molly," her voice found her, her hand extended to shake his, and he looked at her, his hands extended in surprise. And he took her hand in his large ones.

"Holmes."

It was a gentle squeeze of his hands that sent shivers of pleasure down Molly's spine—it's perhaps the drinks or perhaps the odd predicament of being in a room with a strange man that caused it. A part of Molly thinks that the alcohol had finally hit her.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Around Midnight

**Author:** G.G. Halcyon

**Fandom:** Sherlock

**Pairing:** Molly/Mycroft

**Rating:** M

**Warning:** Explicit adult themes

**Publish:** 2014

* * *

CHAPTER 4: RUBY

Molly stole glances at Mycroft as they sat in silence. A part of her found the silence awkward and left her anxious and uneasy. Here was a man—a handsome man—who did not show any willingness to leave her company and she could not speak or show any charm at all. Molly was frustrated—of course he wouldn't want to speak with her or elaborate. She had impeded on his solitary peace by barging in like a crazy lunatic running from her brother. And why would she care what this man thought of her, the probability of her meeting him again was highly slim to none.

She turned to him, and admired his profile. The movement of her head to face him caused him to do the same and he looked at her as well. She was tired of it all, and she needed to be upfront. He was a stranger.

"I'm not going to lie to you," she began, surprised how her voice did not waiver, and she found herself feign what she hope was her most feminine graceful smile, " I'm not good with small talk, I'm awkward with people. So I'm not even going to bother." The words came out, long before she could stop them and she's surprise he didn't seem taken aback.

His eyes glittered in amusement, his smile sustaining. _Great!_ She thought, _I've made myself look more like a crazy person._

"Perhaps it's good that we've rid of certain formalities with your disclosure," he said, placing down his whiskey. "I wouldn't say that I'm very verse in small talk in social predicaments." Somehow she felt that this was hard to believe; she was certain he was simply trying to make her feel not like an idiot.

Molly's hand fidgeted in her lap, "It wasn't my intention to barge in on your privacy."

"I assure you, I can see that."

"I needed to get away from my brother; to be away from everything," she tried to explain herself, "All of this," she made a gesture, "it's a bit too much."

"It's a standard wedding; a majority of whom I'm sure you don't know and won't have any recollection or care for."

"Exactly," she raised her glass and takes a sip of the warm liquid, "And I'd love not to care… I'd love not to care about them, or who or what their thoughts are…"

"You feel everyone is watching you; judging you for being the daughter to the bride. Unmarried."

"How did you know?"

"A simple deduction."

"Is it that obvious?" She laughed with bitterness in her tone, and raised her left hand in front of her, to show him the lack of ring. "I don't find thrill with explaining why I've chosen to remain unmarried…the unmarried daughter of the mother…."

"And what of the man who gave you that necklace?" His eyes are affixed to the long thin gold chain around her neck, a droplet Ruby at the tip rested between the swells of her breast. She felt a warmness cover her, and on reflex she touched the jewelry and looked at it. How'd he know? She thought.

"It… it was just a present from a friend."

"A man doesn't provide such jewelry for a friend," his inquisitive gaze is one in thought. She felt as if he was looking straight through her, and she was exposed. It was ridiculous; he was a complete stranger who she never met before. She took a breath and decided to take a healthy gulp from the whiskey. She needed to be more numb. "A fiancé?"

She almost spilled her drink as she stared at him in horror. She didn't want to be pushed to remember Devin, she didn't want to discuss him at all. And here was this man with the audacity to identify her weakness, all within a few minutes of meeting. A part of her wanted to leave again, and yet somehow the idea that she would never meet him again thrilled her. She found herself lying, deciding not to continue on.

"Not a fiancé," she began and left it at that. She watched as he simply nodded his head and twirled the glass in front of him, observing the golden brown liquid against the warm flames. He was quiet, and yet he exuded a power and a strong energy that was purely masculine. She didn't doubt that he was perhaps someone who was well off, perhaps in the inner circles upon which she would never be a part of; the upper class whom her mother married into and whom she always regretted not being associated with.

His light brown hair was neatly slicked back, and he possessed a widows peak which aided in his strong features. He had a very angular nose that gave him a seriousness and regality to his character. His steely eyes reflected the flames in front of them and for a moment she could tell that he had decided no longer to pay her any attention. Did he already decide that he had no interest in her?—She was a stranger after all who barged in on his peacefulness and decided to chatter about her life's drama. He was perhaps a man of such seriousness that he thought of her as a spinster harpy that in just a short amount of exchange he realize was someone he did not want to waste his time. Was she so uninteresting that this gentleman did not want to talk to her any further? Could he tell she had lied to him about the jewelry? She hated the silence.

She took another gulp of her drink, and placed the glass down on the table near their chairs. All shame and etiquette aside, she decided to draw her legs up in the large chair until her bare feet were tuck under her dress and she had her arms around them. A shiver ran through her and her movement caused him to glance at her. She turned her head away; it was times like these she felt like disappearing, and riding off the awkwardness. A voice in her head reminded her that she could easily do so, as she was after all the one who interrupted his reverie. She still felt him looking at her, waiting for her, as if he knew she wanted to speak . She finally turned to look at him, a faint smile on her lips as she noticed his facial expression changed from one of sternness and deep thought to one of amicableness. He waited for her to speak.

"This necklace, " she touched it again, "was given to me by my ex-fiance, it was a pre-engagement present." She laughed bitterly, "I had forgotten that he'd given it to me until today. I've tried to block him out these several months, and yet here I am wearing this…"

She felt his eyes affixed on her necklace, and she held her breath waiting for him to speak-to say something-but he doesn't. She ignores his gaze, as she unclasp the necklace from her neck and looks down at it in the palm of her hands. She meets his gaze.

"That's a lie..what I just said was a lie." Her admittance is quiet, almost a whisper. She placed the necklace on the table near her empty champagne glass. She turned around, averted her gaze away from him and rested her chin on her knees. She didn't know why she told him this; she was certain he didn't care for that matter...

"You wore it knowingly."

She wished he didn't make her feel so self-conscious and open at the same time.

"Yes." She sighs, "Wearing it is my way of saying 'sod off!'" She said that last part all too loudly. She turns to him and he is studying her curiously. "Somehow I thought by wearing it, I'm proving that it is as insignificant and blasé as any jewelry I'd wear. I'm strong enough for it not to bother me."

"That's certainly a different view."

"I tend to do the opposite of what I'm afraid to do or what I think will make me uncomfortable, whether it seems acceptable or not." She didn't know why it mattered so much that she explained this.

"You didn't want to wear it, and so you did."

"It's my crazy way of showing I have the courage to move on, to let be."

"And so, how long will you keep this necklace?"

"I think it's given it's time."

"Hmm."

She turned to him, this time he is staring into the fire place. She could not tell his reaction as she studied his profile. There were times within their interaction that she wondered how he could easily hide his reactions; he was a hard man to read when he chose to be, that she was sure of. She felt like a fool allowing herself to speak so openly.

"I'm sorry..." she is sincere, her blue eyes wide with realization. This got his attention; steely grey eyes meeting blue ones.

"I'm babbling, and I'm sure the last thing you need in your evening is some uninvited guest ruining your evening singing her woos about a necklace."

He shook his head, disagreeing with her.

"Your company is a surprise, but it certainly is not unwelcomed."

"Wow! So you must really need to stay in hiding then," she joked only to receive a raised eyebrow from him. She shook her head. She just needed to be quiet. She averted her gaze back to the flames. Before another silence took over he speaks.

"I've never been much for weddings myself," he tells her, she smiles at him. Was he tried to make her feel better by changing the subject.

"What brought you here?" The question came before she could stop herself.

"My mother's circle of friends; a promise that I could not decline, as I had promised her I would attend," he took another sip from his glass and she admired his lips and immediately averted her gaze.

"She must know my mother, Amelia, then…"

"She knows your step-father Walter," he begins. How did he know that Walter was her step-father? She is sure that he must have been told by others who she was, but she highly doubted it as she never saw him during the ceremony or even all day until now. She frowns at the thought of Walter—her step father.

"You don't seem pleased with Walter."

"I'm not!—I mean I'm not displeased with him," she sounded like a blumbering idiot. She stopped herself. "I've only met him today you see," she explains, she shifted in her chair uncomfortable. She didn't want to talk about her step father—she wanted to forget.

"You were not informed?"

"No. I was never told about him until a month ago when I moved back here from the U.S.," she sighed, recollecting her shock, "Imagine my surprise when my mother simply states that she is to marry…. "

"Uhm, what brought you to this room?" She changed the subject. "Are you hiding from a significant other?" She smiled up at him. She thanked him for acknowledging that she didn't want to continue their previous topic of discussion.

"I needed to remove myself from my mother's attempts at matchmaking." She noted the frown on his face, as he shook his head dramatically, eliciting a smile from her. "A man can only take so many introductions to prospects , until he has had enough of the charade!"

"Prospects? Is that what they're called now, huh?" She jokes, "I know what you're going through."

"Is that so?"

"Of course," she started, feeling herself relax more at the change of subject. "You see, my mother is great at presenting me with prospects. She seems to think my future husband should be a very senior gentlemen, overly bookish, quiet, and what she thinks is a replica of me."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Not that I'm saying I'm any of those things—bookish, yes, quiet, yes… but all of said prospects have been bores. It'd be nice if she presented me with exciting people-not that I'm even interested!"

She performed theatrical hand gesture of exasperation and elicited his laughter. She laughed with him, shaking her head.

Why were they even talking about this? She noted that he appeared to relax a bit himself, the stress on his shoulders disappearing , and the look on his face lighter and more inviting. He was handsome in his own right, his grey eyes, strong nose…. His laughter warming, his smile wider this time.

"So what exactly are you looking for in a husband?" He was curious.

"I'm not." She answered far too quickly. "I've decided that marriage is not for me."

"What led to that decision?"

"It would limit me…" This answer peaked his interest and she watched as his eyes are bright and engaged.

"In what way?"

"The idea that I would not have the freedom to do my research and to travel… and be left being just a mother." She covers her mouth in embarrassment. "I'm not saying I hate children, or dislike them… but the idea that marriage would mean giving up what I've worked hard to do; what I love."

"Who is to say that marriage would require that?"

"I've…" she was about to talk about Devin, but decided that she didn't want his name or anything about him infect her night or time with this stranger. "Perhaps, it's an assumption that I've concluded from the many 'suitors' or 'prospects' I've had the wonderful pleasure of meeting tonight." She reminded herself that she has accepted her spinster status, "Plus, I am pleased with my independence."

"I'm sure all of the men your mother sent your way weren't not so ghastly. Perhaps one of them would change your perspective in marriage." He leaned closer to her on the chair, his grey eyes shiny with mirth.

She shakes her head, "No, no no! Highly doubtful!" She adjusted herself in her seat. "Let's change the subject. Next thing you'll tell me you know some very good prospects!"

"Are you implying that I may be associated with your prospects? Of senior age, bookish, quiet, boring?"

His eyes sparkled in levity and she realized how she is enjoying their banter. She wondered how much of it was the alcohol.

"Not at all what I'm implying!"

She realized that she is enjoying herself and that she's smiling all too brightly.

They remain seated and discussed the many possible future husbands/wives that were introduced to Molly that very day. She was surprised how open she was with Mycroft, and was grateful that he seemed as open as well. She was grateful that she would no doubt no longer see him again after that night.

"My mother is pining for grandchildren, and believe me I am the last of the Hooper children to provide her one."

"Ah... sounds a lot like Mother."

"My youngest brother is on his way with baby number two, and I'm of course next…." She stared into the fireplace in thought. "Perhaps there comes a certain age where Mother's must show their grandchildren as trophies among their friends; disregarding the truth that maybe some people don't want to get married!"

She looked at him, and blushed at her heated revelation, "I mean…I don't feel it necessary to assume that everyone is destined for marriage…" She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "I'm sorry to get worked up, don't mind me."

"Don't be sorry. I share similar thoughts." He stood up, his glass empty. "Do you want a drink?"

"I suppose I can have what you're having," she smiled at him in thanks, and decided to join him as he walked to the bar. She watched as he prepared their drink, whiskey on the glass, no ice. Molly felt she needed something strong to prepare herself for when she would come face to face with her family again.

"Marriage has never dawned on me in my line of work."

"What do you do exactly?"

"I have a very small role in the government," he left it at that.

She paused waiting for him to share more, but he did not. Afraid of the awkward silence she asked, "I guess that involves a lot of traveling, long hours and such?"

"In more occasions than not, it does indeed," he started, "Not much room for a relationship upon which I would probably never be there the majority of time."

He doesn't seem bitter about the predicament and sounds as if he is simply accepting of a reality of his job. She wondered what his official title for the government would be, but decided that perhaps that information also would have to be in secret. A part of her didn't want to know, realizing that such factor would be so insignificant in the realm of their interaction. They were after all no longer going to see each other after that evening.

He handed her a glass and watched as she sipped her drink slowly. Molly closed her eyes at the burning sensation it caused as the liquid slid down her throat. A feeling of warmth enveloped her and coursed through her body. She opened her eyes, not realizing she had moaned aloud at the taste and blushed with embarrassment.

"Uhmm…it's good whiskey," she said.

He took a sip of his own and nodded his head. "So, what is it you do?"

She sat on the stool in front of the bar and placed down her drink. She didn't know if she wanted to lie about her job or tell him the truth and she wondered if it made a difference. _You're not seeing him again anyway_—again she thinks to herself.

"I'm…a doctor."

She leaves it at that.

He slight tilt of his head indicates she continues, she takes another sip of her drink. "I'm a pathologist…

So, my work as you can imagine garners many suitors from all over England far and wide," she jokes—the warmth of the drink allowing her to speak more freely.

"Everyone wants a wife who can come home from a hard days work of cutting up bodies and cataloging ways someone would have died."

He laughed at this and Molly decided she was fond of his laugh, and the sound is wonderful. He at least understood her sarcasm very well.

"What made you do pathology? It doesn't appear that such a career is common in your family."

She sighs, "It's… someone introduced me to the idea while I was finishing my research work in the United States."

"You do research as well," he seemed to applaud her, an admiration showing in his eyes. "I'm sure that also cannot be conducive to being a marriage partner."

"God forbid, of course not!" she explains lightly, "Who would marry a woman who spends her waking hours with the dead, and spending whatever time she has doing research to be published on scientific magazines about the dead."

"Morbid, I'm sure." He says lightly, still smiling. "Then again, we have concluded marriage is not in your sights…"

"Well, of course… but Believe me, I've had my share of horror stories on first dates failing when they've realize what I do." She took another sip of her drink.

"People have an inclination to fear death."

"Are you one of those people?" She asked him.

"I'm not afraid of death," he began, "it is a crucial part of living; it's inevitable."

"That's how I see it." She nodded her head in agreement.

"The dead don't lie, they do not hide behind a mask…

All they have are the truth—how they died, how they lived—that I find out…and those truths are truths even the closest to them would never know or find out…."

"Except you," he adds.

"Yes," she nodded her head and looked at him, searching his expression, wondering if it'd be an expression of horror or dislike for this particular topic, but she sees no judgment there. He seemed all right with their conversation. "I don't mean for this to sound so morbid… I'm sorry."

"No need to be."

He looked at her in admiration and Molly wondered if he is imagining her in her lab coat in her position as a pathologist. "I have a lot of appreciation for people in your line of work, especially in such a field."

"Most people do get squeamish at the topic of pathology, of death," she looked out into the hearth, watched the flames dance. "To me, there is an appreciation for the human body; it's just most people find the creation of life the main importance. To me we can't look at the catalyst without observing and accepting the ending…."

"A very good point."

"Growing up I've never been afraid of death; maybe that's really where my being a pathologist stems from…"

She turned to him. _I'm talking too much._ "Here I am talking about death and myself, and I haven't even allowed you to share about yourself." She looked down at their drinks embarrassed again, and he noticed this.

"There is not much to share," he began and he noted right away that she seemed to take this as a way of him saying that he had no interest in conversing with her. He watched her cower back to her insecurities, her eyes focused on her glass as she swirled the liquor in thought.

"Oh I see," she whispered, and took another sip.

He found that he wanted to open up to her; her energy is one that is inviting, and she was unlike any woman he'd met. She was different, sincere and genuine. She was probably one he'd never meet again—the thought somehow bothered him, and yet he knew it was of no control to him.

"As I mentioned, my job…" he began, she looked up at him, "there are many particularities regarding my position that I cannot disclose with you."

"Don't worry, I understand," she tried to let it go lightly, "I'm sure you are in charge of many covert gatherings in the British government and you are a high ranking official in MI6." She joked this, but he is surprise how close she was to his true position. At her joke she noticed him give pause, but brushed it off.

"Does that bother you that I cannot disclose in detail what I do?" He finally asked her.

"Does it matter?" she sipped her drink again, the warmth of the whiskey warming her throat and further allowing her to be more relax, as the words came. She remembered again that this complete stranger would remain as such, a stranger whom she would not meet again. "We won't see each other again after tonight; I don't see any reason why it'd make a difference whether you do or don't."

"That being the point, I suppose we have no choice but to simply enjoy each other's company as we're in hiding." He smiled at her, and she couldn't help but smile back. This man was different, she thought, and a part of her wanted to relish in his company, and to pretend that for once she was simply a woman who had the attention of a man. It made her feel more aware of how she presented herself, and yet at the same time his carefree and openness (and perhaps it was all the whiskey) allowed her to mirror the same relaxation. An awkward silence feel between them as they averted their gazes to the bottle Mycroft held as he refilled their drink. He probably noticed her shift in her seat.

"We did disclose we were horrid at small talk," he reminded her against the calm uncertainty that was again settling over them.

"Don't worry, that is for certain showing now," she laughed, "awkward silences and turn of a conversation is my forte."

"Mine as well, as it seems," he sat next to her on the stool, his whiskey refilled, and she notes he doesn't drink it, and neither does she as they look deeply in each other's eyes and find themselves smiling, their bodies turned towards each other.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Around Midnight

**Author:** G.G. Halcyon

**Fandom:** Sherlock

**Pairing:** Molly/Mycroft

**Rating:** M

**Warning:** Graphic adult scene indicated by ' / / /'

**Publish:** 2014

* * *

CHAPTER FIVE: A CONVERSATION

His leg brushed against the side of her thigh as he seated next to her at he bar and a jolt of full awareness rushed over her at his touch. It didn't occur to her that during their conversation they had inched closer and closer to each other. The liquor they've drank brought warmness all over her body, and a relaxed and calm that she hadn't felt all day. Her knees brushed against his as she turned to him, and he doesn't move way from her. She relished in being close to him.

Here she was sitting and chatting with a complete stranger with the most unique name—she is certain she would never forget it—and in all his credit, he is the perfect gentlemen, and somehow there is something that continued to draw her to him. She was about to open her mouth to answer a question he has asked her regarding her family, when loud music began playing outside.

Molly left the stool and headed towards the window to observe the crowd below. She heard someone on the speaker encouraging guests to step outside for the dancing portion of the wedding reception. Her eyes looked down longingly at the crowd. Deep down, she wanted to be there dancing along with the people of the reception, only if she had the womanly guiles of catching a any man willing to. If she had any resemblance of her mother, maybe she would have been able to save her engagement, or even land her a man who would find her enthralling and so beautiful that he would strive to dance with her. If things were different, Molly would not be as bitter, and she would be dancing like everyone else.

Mycroft stood beside her looking outside the massive window and down at the party beginning to dance to the rhythm of smooth jazz beats. He noticed her look of longing, and as if in instincts, he asked her the question she had dreamt to hear.

"Would you like to dance?"

The question takes her aback; furthermore so does the sight of his left hand outstretched in front of her waiting for her to respond.

"Thank you… but I'd rather stay up here."

She presents him with a smile. The last thing Molly wanted was to venture out into the open and run into her family.

Unfazed, Mycroft's hand remained extended in invitation waiting to envelope her hand in his.

"Oh…" she noticed his outstretched hand again and looked at them questioningly until it hits her. "H..here?" He wanted to dance with her there and then, in the confines of their room.

"Well of course," he says matter-of-factly. He smiles again, his eyes bright, inviting. "As so we maintain our hiding."

"I'm not much of a dancer…"

Somehow her hand found its way to his.

He took her hand in his and he pulled her close. She gazed up to him and remained speechless, and so fully aware of his charm, of his masculinity, and confidence.

"Allow me to lead."

He guided one of her hands to rest on his shoulder, while the other is nestled in his hand. Molly blushed profusely, and felt her legs weak, yet forced to straighten herself and relish in the feeling of her hand in his.

He pulled her closer to him until they are only inches from one another. She stared up right into his eyes, and she saw intention there, and a calm seriousness.

That very moment she knew that all his attention, all of his intent was devoted to her. She felt his hand's gentle pressure on the small of her back and they started to sway.

"I may step on your shoes…" She warned him, feeling foolish and unprepared for whatever would occur. He didn't seem to mind, his lips curved upward.

"That may be more a worry for me," he said as his eyes looked pointedly at their feet. Molly realized she was not wearing shoes, which explained her small stature in comparison to him. She stopped them abruptly; he doesn't let her go.

"Oh geez…I should have put them on! I'm sorry!" Any woman in her predicament would have had the decency to keep on their heels—to look presentable at least. Molly, was the opposite of such woman—she is horrified at this thought and thoroughly embarrassed.

Mycroft didn't seem to mind and brushed off her worry. He simply chuckled quietly and moved her gently closer to him and continued to sway them in a slow rhythm and Molly had no choice but to follow.

"No need," he whispers in her ear, his hot breath on her ear. "You are perfect as you are."

If hearts could be heard beating, Molly was sure hers would be the loudest at that very moment.

"I.." The feeling she felt was so intense, the warmness engulfed her and she wondered if this was all a dream.

She closed her eyes and basked in the feeling of it all. _"Fuck it!"_ she thinks to herself, allowing herself free. She removed her hand from his hold and circled her arms around his neck and pulled herself closer to him. Her breasts brushed against his chest, and in that very action she is pleased as she noticed him take a deep breath in reaction.

She knew that she may have a small smile on her face, as she pressed her cheek to the crook of his neck; she doesn't dare look at him. She doesn't want to see whether he found her action too forward, or disapproved it. His large hand lowered to the small of her back towards the sides of her hip, his fingertips gently caressing the satin of her dress against her. He kept her close to him in their sway, and all doubt Molly felt disappeared.

They danced in a gentle sway to a few songs that played outside, each one slow and jazzy. Time seemed to pass in its gentleness, and for those moments they relished in each other's arms and company, and Molly's mind devoid of any worry, but instead living in the company of a man she had just met. 'If this is a dream,' she thought, 'let it last a little bit longer, before it ends.' She nestled against his chest and revelled in his hands gently massaging her hip, and she realized that in their moment she is grinding against him, and she feels his hardness pressed in front of her.

At this she made certain that he feels the same attraction that raced through her too.

"Molly…"

His voice again is soft and warm, this time he breathes her name, also a plea. Did he want her to stop? Were they about to go too far? So many thoughts registered in her brain, but Molly decided to let them go and to bask in the feeling that she never felt in such a long time. Molly would be different and she was going to take control.

She disengaged herself from him and turned around until her back is pressed against him, and she adjusted his hands to her hips once more and continued to sway against him. She heard him slowly trying to steady his breathing, his hands paused against her hips for a brief second. In an instant she then feels his hands gently grasp her hips and pull her close against him. She hums in the feel of him against the swell of her butt, against the silk dress as she sensually grinds against him to the sound the music. A part of her wondered what led her to do such an action, and yet a part of her reveled in the fact that she would probably not see him again, and for her time she needed to enjoy herself to feel free and be the woman she wanted to be.

"Molly…" he stopped them in their movement again, and spun her around to face him. His eyes are intense and filled with a lust so powerful she is taken aback. He is as hungry as she is for this very moment, for them to touch, to let themselves free.

"If you continue on… I'm not sure if I can stop myself…" He warns her.

Her breathing remained heavy from the excitement, as she looked up at him, his hands steady on her hips, her body still pressed against him. She brushed off her worries, and smiled at him.

"Do you think that I want you to?" She searched his face only to find the same want and need was reflected. They both knew the answer.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face towards her own… so very close, their lips only inches away. She ran a hand through his dark brown hair and she felt him shiver with excitement under her touch. He was certainly a man she wanted to get lost in, to be free with.

He studied her face and reflected the smile and mischievousness that she presented to him.

"I'll deduce that as a 'yes'."

She kissed him lightly on the lips, teasing him, "Yes."

With that, she pulled him down to kiss him, this time it is a passionate kiss, their tongues entwined, and he held her closely pressed to him and his hardness. She moaned into his mouth, and she tasted the sweetness there and the smokiness of the whiskey they had consumed. She does not think, she let go, and allowed the heat that forms between them to engulf her.

In the passion of their kiss, the intensity of their need for one another—to feel—reflected in the dance that their bodies did in the room. At first their passion is consumed by the flames of need that they are rushed. She kissed him with such a force and so does he that they are out of breath. He ran his hands all over her body against her tight silk dress and she in her rush ran her small hands over his jacket which she hurriedly rid him of and threw to the floor.

She hurriedly unbuttoned his vest, but before she could remove it from him, he lifted her, so that her legs wrapped around his torso, and he carried her to the bar stool and sits her on top of it. They kiss, hurried, and she moaned against him, her legs opened and he stands between them, leaning forward and kissed her lips and then trailed kisses down her neck. Her hair is disheveled; her eyes are closed as she leans back and succumb to his touch.

"Holmes…"

The feeling is so intense, that his name comes out as a whisper against his ear. She sits on the stool, and he stands in front of her between her legs. She wraps her legs around his torso, pulling him close to her warmth. She could feel his hardness against the tightness of his pants, and she finds her hands working his buckle, trying to set him free, yet he stopped her. She looked up at him with questioning needy eyes.

"I want to touch you," She tells him. The words came out of her mouth and this time there is no embarrassment there, as her eyes are positioned at his hardness, and she ran her hands over the bulge in the front of his pants. He stops her.

"In time," he said, as he tilted her head towards him and kissed her again, biting her lips gently. His kiss this time is slower, not rushed and sensual and she immediately realize that he was a man who had decided to savor this moment, and so did she.

"You…are….beautiful."

"Oh…"

Molly's voice was a mere whisper.

/

/

/

He was a man who knew-and made sure that she knew-how much he wanted her. His hot breath against the expose skin of her neck as he kissed and caressed her through the silk of her dress made her knees weak with want. All Molly knew was that she loved the feel of his hands, and his lips, and she wanted more. Her eyes closed shut-Molly prayed this was no dream that she would wake from as she felt long fingers brushed dainty straps down her shoulders until silk fabric fell to her waist.

Molly opened her eyes and stood still as Mycroft's heated gaze admired her body. He looked down at her exposed breasts with such pleasure, and a smile upon his face. She stopped herself from making a remark, and decided to remain quiet, yearning for his next touch.

Large hands gently squeezed caressed her breasts and she is taken aback by the intense feeling that she moaned aloud and tilt her head back. Her neck is exposed to him, and he leaned over and kissed her neck, suckling and licking, as his fingers gently squeezed her nipples, rotating them to their pert state between thumb and index finger. Molly was left moaning and gasping with excitement, her core bucked towards him, as she roughly grinded herself against his hardness.

"Oh…"

She closed her eyes as she felt his kisses trail downward down her neck, her adam's apple, between the valley of her breasts, and-"Oh god!" Was that her voice?- his lips closed around her left nipple and he sucked gently, his tongue lapped over the pert bud. She is shivered in the intensity, as she tightened her legs around his torso her hands buried in his hair as she pulled him closer to her. "That feels so good, Holmes…"

His eyes gazed up her with the same sensuality that she felt, as she watched him switch his attention to her other nipple. He licked slowly around the bud, all while his eyes on her, and the hungry and wanton look in his eyes—a reflection of her own—made Molly feel also faint in excitement. She knew she was soaking wet because of him and she felt a frustration overcome her, driving her crazy, as she wanted so badly to touch him and caress him in the same way until he was close to the edge himself.

Taking action, Molly attempted to unbuckle his pants, to remove his vest, and to undress him, but she soon realized that she could not. As a surge of warm began to course through her, a pleasant shiver encompassed her as she was so close to the edge. Mycroft seemed to notice this very clearly.

He made her his slave to his touches, as he stopped his ministrations on her breast, stepped back slightly and opened her legs wider. He is pleased that Molly did so freely, but also admired the blush that colored her cheeks at such intimacy. Half lide eyes looked down at him and watched his every move. He reveled in the sight of her soft skin, and the rise and fall of her breast as she appeared to catch her breath and center herself.

He didn't say a word, but simply smiled at her as he runs his fingers over the wetness of her black underwear soaked with her pleasure.

She is flushed with embarrassment, she exposed to this man, and not remembering having such an experience before. At his touch she inched towards him, feeling him teasing her over the fabric. He felt the small nubbin, the source of her sensitivity and wetness through the fabirc of her underwear and with his index finger he rubbed it gently, admiring the sleekness of her arousal, and her scent which drove him closer and closer to such intimate insanity and need.

Molly closed her eyes at the feeling coursing through her, and at the exposure and the gentleness and blatant way such a man would show admiration to her. His gentle touches and kisses made her moan his name loudly, her hips bucking towards him as she wanted more of his touch.

He moved the black fabric over, until his fingers were directly against her folds and her most sensitive spot. Mycroft enjoyed the warmth of her core. As his two fingers entered her slowly—he heard her gasp in pleasure and succumb to the pleasant intrusion—and she began to rock against him.

He continued to rub her sensitive clit as she rode his fingers. his lips suckling on her nipples and showering kisses on her chest and neck and lips.

"Oh god! Oh god!" She rocked him, her hands guiding him inside her, gripping his fingers in her core as her orgasm coursed though her. Her hands were deep in his hair as the wave of pleasure hit her in just force that she found herself closing her eyes and shivering and gasping from the euphoric feel of her release he brought about her.

And Myrcoft enjoyed every minute, as he kept his fingers inside of her until her orgasm subsided into a pleasant calm sensuality. He watched her closely as she slowly opened her eyes, and met his gaze. He could still feel her pulsing around his fingers, as he slowly and gently slipped his fingers out of her, and under her satiated gaze, allowed her watch as he licked her honey off his fingers. She moaned at the sight of him, and her eyes remained focus on his fingers, and then his lips.

"Delicious," he told her, his eyes roaming her exposed warmth and he noticed her blushing through half lidded eyes, and he ran his finger gently over her warmness again, and she shivered in excitement from the remains of her orgasm—so vividly she replayed milking his fingers with each trust.

"Uhg…not…fair…" she placed her hand atop his to stop him from beginning again. She was hungry, Mycroft could tell, and she looked determined.

"Your turn," she said to him as she pushed him back gently as she hopped off the bar stool. As she stood, he dress fell off of her and onto the floor. She stood in front of him, only in her black lace tong, Mycroft's eyes ravishing her body. She noted his chest rising and falling in his heaving breathing. She smiled mischievously, noting his ruffled hair, and her marks she made against his chest through his partly opened shirt and vest.

She tpok his hands and lead him to the large arm chairs in front of the fire place.

"Take a seat."

And he listend to her command, sitting on the chair, his arms rested on the sides, his legs opened, as she stood between them.

"May I ask what you have planned?"

"Watch," she leaned in and kissed him, allowing her naked form to brush against him until she lowered herself between him in a kneeling position.

She worked the buckles off his belt and she watched his intense steely gray eyes. She wanted him to feel what she has felt, she wanted to tease him as well.

She ushered him to take off his pants, and he assisted her in doing so, standing up briefly in front of her and pulling his pants down, and casting them to the side next to her dress, until he is sat in front of her in his dark blue boxer briefs.

She could make out the hard form of him, and she ran a finger over his length, her eyes meeting his and she smiled and he does as well. She loved his long length, and somehow she is not surprised by his size—and she is grateful for it's length. She wants to feel him and slowly takes his out until she is touching his warmth in her hands. She watched as he closed his eyes and relished in the feeling of her hands against his skin.

The tip his manhood was already wet with pleasure and she leaned forward to lick the glistening wetness. As she leaned, she allowed her lips to cover his tip, she looked directly at him as she did so, loving the expressions on his face as she felt his length throbbing in her mouth.

"I would love to feel you inside," she declarec, again feeling a sweet frustration through her, "but I do not have anything for us…"

"And neither do I," he breathes this as he opened his eyes and watch intently as she slowly ran her tongue over the tip of his manhood, while languidly stroking him. How he wished he had come prepared—_Who would have thought he'd find himself in such a predicament?_ He thought to himself. He focused all his willpower to stop himself from taking her in his arms, and enjoying the feel of himself inside of her—he could feel she felt the same as well, and was fighting it.

"I'm sure we'll work something out," Molly told him sweetly as she wrapped her lips onced again over his length and begins to stroke him with her mouth. Her hands were placed on his knees, and she massaged them as she continued to work her way at his length. Mycroft watched as she does her best in taking his length down her throat, the sound of her actions drove him crazy as he heard the sloppy wetness of her actions. She licked and caressed him until he felt a wildness inside of him; he wanted her so badly and she was driving him mad.

She grabbed him with both hands and with a rotating motion she pumped him up and down, every once in a while licking the tip as she did so. The pace started slow and then became quicker as she began to alternate between her hand's motion, to her deep throating him as she drove him closer and closer to the edge.

Mycroft did his best to steady himself, not wanting to release just yet. His hands firmly squeezed the sides of the chair, his breathing heavy.

"Molly…"

"Uhmm…mmm.."

She quickened her pace, as she felt him tightening in her mouth, his hardness throbbing. She took his left hand from the arm of the chair and placed it on her head. She wanted him to help her, and to adjust her pace. Their is a pause until she finality felt his hands gently brush through her hair. He looks down at her, a question in his gaze, as Molly then took his right hand and placed it on her head. She wanted him to guide her.

She looked up at him, "Please," she said, licking the tip of him, "I like it. Guide me." Her admission opened up something inside him and he gently pulled on her hair and aided her in pumping his length in and out of her mouth. The pace is slow at first, but quickened as she quickened as well and he found himself bucking towards her mouth and he is amazed at her ability to take in his length with such intensity.

He is close, so close—a craze of pleasure eating at him until it is also unbearable and he gently pulls her back to stop her. She looks up, surprised, and almost appeared disappointed that she had to stop her ministrations on him.

"Get on top of me." This time he is commanding her. He raised her from her kneeling position, and he watched as she is at first baffled at the decision, and soon did as told.

Molly knew very well that he was close. She watched as he placed himself back in his boxers, his length's outline throbbing under the tight blue fabric.

Her legs are weak as she slowly lifted herself to sit on top of him, her knees resting on either side of him on the large chair, until she is straddling him, her wetness soaking through her dark underwear and hovering over the outline of his arrousal underneath his boxer briefs.

"Ride me." He commanded again, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close—so close that her breasts press against him.

She obeys.

She leaned toward him, and rested her soaking core to his hardness and slowly rubbed herself to him. "Like this?" She asked, a breathy whisper against his ear, as the feeling coursing through her is as intense as the gaze he gave her.

"Yes."

She felt his hands grab her buttocks and firmly press her down to his length. She has never done this before, as she gently grinds herself over his hardness.

Soon she is moving over him, grinding over his length, her slickness seeping through her underwear. She rubs against him, a preasure building up with the friction of her movement.

"I'm so wet…"

"Perfect."

He bucked towards her against the fabric, and she hugged him tightly as they quickened their pace. They move against each other in smooth movements, their bodies falling in a sensual rhythm, slowly inching them closer and closer to their release.

Molly felt his hot breathe against her neck, kissing, and biting, and she found herself showing kisses against his neck, as she rode him and wrapped her legs tightly around him.

"Rock with me, Molly." He whispered against her lips, before they kissed, their tongues battling with each other—tasting each other.

She felt his hardness rub against her clit, and she continued to grind against him over and over and over until their quickness in their thrust caused him to grip her waist tightly, and she felt his lips hover over her breasts as their breathing became more labored, their hearts beating faster which each movement.

"Holmes..."

"Molly..."

In the haze of their movement, for a moment Molly felt she had floated out of her body and witnessed herself revel in the most sensual experience she ever had in her life. She heard their moans, felt lips sucking, licking, kissing; and she felt his muscular body against hers, she tasted his lips, their tongue hot and wet, she felt the softness of his his hair, as they continued to kiss and touch; she felt her second orgasm rising again, encompassing her with such giddy euphoric high as she felt herself so determined to enjoy this very night with a man who seemed so much like a dream.

In their final thrusts, the intensity of their orgasms surrounded them; their arms held tightly to one another, as each kissed the other, and whispered each other's name. When all was done, they remained wrapped in each other's arm; listening to each other's heart beat, a smile on both their faces, and a satisfaction that brought about a joyfulness and intimacy about them.

/

/

/

She is flushed and so is he, their eyes hazy from what transitioned.

"Oh my…" her breathing is ragged and so is his. A voice in her mind hits her as if reality, and she is panicked at the realization of what she has done. She has seduced and engaged in sexual intercourse with man she only met, worst yet it is during her mother's wedding. What was she thinking—and as these thoughts started to appear in her mind, she is stopped by the look is giving her. He smiles at her, and in all her embarrassment, as she glances at his handsome face, his disheveled hair, his bruised lips, and realize their current predicament, she cannot help but smile back.

"As for our small talk…" he joked.

Molly shook her head and laughed; she leaned over and kissed him before disengaging herself off of him in search of something to clean them up.

She would take that night to her grave; she couldn't believe little Molly Hooper—boring, spinster—had just seduced and had an intimate moment with a stranger, and better yet at her mother's wedding.

If one was to ask her after that date how the wedding was, Molly Hooper would have said that it was worth it after all.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Around Midnight

**Author:** G.G. Halcyon

**Fandom:** Sherlock

**Pairing:** Molly/Mycroft

**Rating:** M

**Warning:** Explicit adult themes

**Publish:** 2014

* * *

CHAPTER SIX: THE PARTING GREETING

They stole quiet glances at one another as they found themselves where they had begun, both seated quietly on the large arm chairs, overlooking the flames. The flames were still strong, and Molly could not help but shake her head at the thought that a few minutes ago, they had tossed their underwear in the flames as to rid of the evidence. It was her ridiculous suggestion, but he did not seem to mind as they tidied themselves the best they could to look as much presentable as they were prior.

Molly assisted Mycroft with his suit, his tie, his jacket in comfortable silence, surprised that the task did not seem abnormal or awkward. She ran her hand through his hair to ensure they remained neat and tidied, and watched as he reviewed his visage in the mirror behind the bar. If one was not privy to what had occurred in that room, one could not even guest that anything occurred out of the ordinary for Mycroft. If they had known him well, perhaps the relaxed posture, and the light and slight upward curve of his lips at the woman before him—his intended gaze—would hint that something pleasing occurred.

As for Molly, her return from her disheveled state was not as easily done as Mycroft's. Her hair had been disheveled, the neat long dirty-blonde curls were unwind, and strands remained out of place. She thanked the gods above that she had made sure that she always kept a hair-tie for her hair in her purse, as she was known for her ponytails. She went to her bag and neatly tied her hair up in a high ponytail, happy that the curls managed to maintain some of their shape. In her wallet were also her lipstick, and blush which she applied while looking at the mirror behind the bar. She almost feels shyness around Mycroft's observation, but decides that after their intimacy this is something that she should not feel. She is pleased as she turns to him, fully dressed—her hair in place, her dress hardly any creases, and her light pink lipstick on her lips—and his eyes reviews her body in admiration.

"You are beautiful," he says to her, and she blushes at this, smoothing her hand over her dress.

"So are you," she says, and immediately covered her mouth, "Not beautiful, of course, but handsome." She shook her head and laughed at herself at her awkwardness, and he smiled at her as he ushered her to sit down.

Before she seated, she couldn't help but have images of what they had done on the very same chairs not long ago. The thought caused her to feel her body reacting, she takes a deep breathe. Handle this like a grown woman, Molly, she told herself.

"I've never…" She has his attention, "Holmes, I'm not… what happened," she coughs, "what happens is something that I've never done… I'm not that kind of woman who just—"

"Molly…"

"I mean… don't think that it was my intention, finding you here to seduce you; or to put you in a predicament or…." She is baffling. He held her hand in his and this quiets her as she met his gaze.

"Molly," he said again, "What we've done needs no explanation. You are a beautiful woman, and what we've shared, I must say is something I thoroughly enjoyed."

"…I enjoyed it too," she looked back at the flames, reminiscing on what transpired and how the passion she felt inside were like those flames. What had come over her to do such a thing? She wondered, remembering the many drinks she consumed prior. Somehow the reality of it all hits her and is sobering, yet it was not a sobering effect of negativity; it all was in a positive light.

With Mycroft she experienced a freeness and carefree moment of sensuality that she never experienced before. She had let go and opened herself to the feeling. Then it hits her, she would never see him again, and perhaps that was the cause of the silence. What did people do after they spent a night together? She didn't want to voice this thought, she didn't want him to see her naiveté; she still didn't know much about him.

She looked down at their hands together, and in his eyes, and she can't help but blush and she watched intently as he is about to say something, but a loud calling interrupts their moment, as their eyes adjust to the loud banging in the doors close by.

"Molly?" Her brother's familiar voice is heard outside the hallway. Followed by two other footsteps.

"Sweetie, are you sure she'd be somewhere up here?"

"Where else could she be? I checked everywhere—I might as well check here again."

"Molly?"

"She has to be here; she couldn't have left. Her car is still there."

"Molly!?"

Molly looked up at Mycroft, a panic setting in. What if her brother found her in this very room and noticed something was going on between her and Mycroft? Georgie knew she had recently ended her engagement with Devin—what would he says if he could tell that she and Mycroft had spent an intimate time hidden in this library. Mycroft seemed to note her panic, as Molly stood up and headed for the door.

He stood up as well, and as Molly was thinking of ways to present the situation, she watched as Mycroft proceeded to the door next to her. She panicked, and immediately unlocked the door, and was about to step out and he stopped her, his hands on her hips as he turned her to him, her back pressed against the door, which remained closed.

Her breathing was fast and heavy, as she looked up at him. She could hear her brother and sister-in-law's footsteps, two rooms away. "I…should…."

The footsteps are close now. Her palm is pressed against his chest and she feels the steady beat of his heart—he is calm; controlled. And he lowered his head to kiss her, a slow kiss as if to remind her that what they shared had been something memorable, and she closed her eyes, arching up to touch his lips—

"Molly!?"

The sound of opening door across from their own shook them from them reverie, and Mycroft stepped back as Molly gently pushe him away.

"I have to go," she said, straightening herself as she faced the door, her back turned to him. She doesn't dare look at him again; she didn't want to make this last into something when it really wasn't anything at all. It was a one-night stand of some sort with a stranger she had only met—for all she knew she didn't really know him at all. Without a thought she grabbed her purse and shoes in her hand openned the door to greet her brother.

"Geez! Molly what the fuck!? You scared the shit out of me!" Georgie immediately hugged her.

"Georgie, why in the world are you screaming my name like a lunatic out there?" She feigned ignorance, finding it in her gut a way to steady herself. She releases herself from her brother's hug. She had to pretend that she had not been there at all. She wonders if Mycroft would emerge from behind the door to go after her, and he doesn't and she doesn't dare stay any moment to find out.

"We thought we had walked off somewhere!" Georgie studied her face closely, worry disappearing from his brow as he is happy he found her. Molly began to walk pass them and headed towards the stairs. She had to get out of there.

She smiled at George as they reach the stairs, glancing back at the room, the doors still closed down the hallway. "You think I'm that bitter?"

Leona cough awkwardly, "Of course not, sweetheart! We were just worried is all!"

"I went up here to watch the celebration from above; I was tired from all that dancing."

Georgie looked at her oddly, "I didn't see you dancing out there! I would have known. Mom was looking for you too."

"How many drinks have you had? You looked like you were having the time of your life out there, Georgie."

"Hmm…well, I'm just happy I found you. It's all almost over anyway."

A part of her deep down actually wished it wasn't.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Around Midnight

**Author:** G.G. Halcyon

**Fandom:** Sherlock

**Pairing:** Molly/Mycroft

**Rating:** M

**Warning:** Explicit adult themes

**Publish:** 2014

* * *

CHAPTER SEVEN: HOLMES

The headache was nothing like she'd ever felt before. It was as if a train ran over her and prevented her from seeing the light without cowering under her blankets like a vampire. Reality hit her like cold water and jolted her upright in her bed.

"Oh…my…god…!"

Drinks. Lemon drops and Grey hounds. Wedding. Holmes.

"Aughh..." She rubbed sleep from her eyes and dropped her face in her hands. It wasn't shame that coursed through her, but instead an odd feel of satisfaction. That surprised her because the last thing she thought she would feel after her first one night stand was the feeling of 'satisfaction' and …was that also a feeling of accomplishment?

_Great! This just makes it all better! _

She looked around her grateful that somehow she managed to make it to her hotel room and leave the wedding without any awkward encounter with the man who she shared her night, and continued to fill her dreams.

_I'll never see him again, anyway. _

Somehow that thought bothered her more than she knew it should have. Holmes would unlikely meet her path again as his family were not very close with hers to begin with. His mother knew her father-in-law very distantly through a friend of a friend's who were part of the same country club. It was very unlikely that their paths would cross again.

Could it have ended differently? She wondered what would have happened if her brother didn't find her, or if she had decided to ignore him and not cowered away.

In her dream she thought of Holmes asking for her number to call and to promise a 'date', or perhaps they'd continue on for another round of 'dancing'. A blush crept trough her face in remembrance of how he touched her and how she freely touched him and relished in his exploration of her.

She fell back in her bed and threw the blankets over her head. She wanted to sleep and not think anymore, and to pretend she had just dreamt an amazing dream of a night shared with a man whom she hardly just met.

As she laid in her bed, she closed her eyes again and willed herself to remember every detail of her night, a night she that would never happen again. She made the decision that she would lie in bed just a few hours more before she had to get dressed, pack and be prepared to head back to the city.

With a long sigh Molly remembered the steely gray eyes and the seduction of a certain gentleman named Holmes.

"I wonder if that really was his first name…"

FIN …


End file.
